


Melting Skies

by VioletNightmare



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original work - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletNightmare/pseuds/VioletNightmare
Summary: Warning(s): Allusions to death/suicide





	

Her eyes were the colour of ashes.

No one knew who she was, but they knew her eyes. They were not the sort of eyes you could forget. After all, who could forget eyes that had the hollow look of seeing too much?

They were the gray skies before a storm, the pitch smoke of a fire. Her eyes were the colour of the bombs that rained down from the heavens. They were the colour of burning bodies and the smoking husks of corpses. They were the colour of debris on the streets and obliterated lives and the cries of loved ones lost.

Her eyes were the colour of ashes, and it was fitting. After all, her life had been in ashes around her that day. The day the bombs rained down on their heads.

~

His eyes were the colour of arctic.

Nobody remembered where he’d come from, the boy, but they remembered his eyes. They were cold and hard and unforgettable.

They were the colour of the shallows of the sea that so many fear. They were the colour of a crisp winter morning sky, the colour of melting snow, of harsh winter winds. They were the colour of ice and sleet and bodies slowly freezing over. They were the colour of blue lips, of long, agonizing death and falling asleep only to never wake up again.

His eyes were most definitely the colour of arctic. Indeed, what better colour than that of the cold, dead, iced-over remains of his family?

~

It was a day the colour of crimson when eyes of ash met eyes of arctic.

The sky was the colour of burning embers, of shrill screaming and the high-pitched whine of sirens. It was the colour of anger and hate and the sharpness of the world. It was as crimson as the blood running down their wrists that day, the colour of death.

The sky was the colour of crimson as two souls met in the air, one with eyes of ash and the other with eyes of arctic. The two stared at each other, their shared pain as loud as the girl’s bombs and the boy’s winter winds.

The skies melted around them as the two souls embraced, and even Death was awed at the sight. The sky became the colour of rage, and the glittering gold of joy, the rose colour of the softness of love. The sky was the lilac colour of dreams and the navy of the deep sea. It was the colour of emeralds and calm and the colour of umber. It was the silvery-gray of clouds and mended souls.

The sky melted for the two souls as it had never melted before Crimson melted to silver, bloody and angry to whole and calm.

The world would remember the girl with eyes of ash and the boy with eyes of arctic. It would remember how the sky melted at their deaths. It would remember the colour of bombs and winter winds, and it would weep.


End file.
